Well, Christmas is over and if I'm not careful, so too will be my residency in this beautiful part of the country. First, let me say, that I spent Christmas Eve with good friends...and I gave truly wonderful, thoughtful gifts--gifts that were far better (and more expensive) than anything I received from said friends. (Although, to be honest, someone could have given me keys to a brand new Bentley and I'd have found something to be complain about ..."Oh, a Bentley, how lovely ... a BROWN Bentley." - The CAPS indicate me, sneering in horror).

Anyway, everything was fine until yesterday, the 26th, Boxing Day in many countries. I'm not sure why they call it Boxing Day and I suppose if I wasn't criminally lazy I could Google "Boxing Day" and find out, but I AM.

I live in a very nice gated community...and by gated, I don't mean like a prison in upstate New York, or an assisted living facility for old Jews in Boca Raton, Fla. I mean, really nice apartments, lush landscaped grounds, swimming pool, etc. And it has a very diverse population; well Orange County Diverse, which means lots of people who are different shades of white. (Regular white, very white...scary white). I don't believe I'm the only Jewish person on the property (or in Orange County) but there are elaborate Christmas decorations and displays in front of every single apartment--except mine. Yesterday afternoon I'm taking my new puppy for a walk (my God, he's white too) when I strike up a conversation with our local postman (and by "conversation" I mean me explaining that I would've given him a bigger gift, but I save my big gifts as suck-ups to potential employers who will one day give me A LOT of money, thereby enabling me to give him, the mailman, the kind of Christmas gift he so richly deserves).

While I'm talking to Joe (I don't know his name, really, but I think if I act as though I did it not only gives this story more gravitas, but will make you think a little more highly of me) I notice this odd sound...a drip, a pour...a minimalist waterfall, if you will. And there, for all to see, was my new puppy, leg in the air, messing up the manger, crashing the crèche.

Specifically, he was peeing on the Christ child. Mind you, it wasn't the REAL Christ child, rather an electric, light-up Baby Jesus, lying in his cradle, next to other electric, light-up nativity puppets and figurines. I don't think my dog particularly targeted the 300-watt Christ doll; I can't imagine, that in his 10-month-old puppy brain he was thinking, "Well, it would be tres déclassé to urinate on Mary, and the wise men would certainly be wise enough to find some form of retribution if I pee on them...Hmmm...I know, the baby! I'll take a leak on the baby--he's small, weak and defenseless!" (I know for a fact my puppy wouldn't do THAT...he's not a republican).

As my puppy's prize trickled into the manger, Postal Joe and I shared a silent awkward moment. Somehow I knew that he was upset with the blasphemy of my dog taking a whiz on the Christ child. And somehow he knew I was quite amused by the irony of the whole thing. After what seemed like an eternity, he said in a not-so-tongue-in-cheek-manner, "You're lucky he didn't poop on the Allah statue in front of apartment # 59."

As we parted company, he to go on his rounds and I to go home and praise my dog, I thought, "Wow, a Muslim neighbor, cool! There's at least on other person-of-diversity living here.'

And then I thought, 'I'm going have to run to the ATM to get some cash and really sweeten my mailman's Christmas present."